


touch me, touch me

by chinuplilpup



Category: DCU
Genre: Breathplay, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Daddy Issues, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slut Shaming, Trans Dick Grayson, Under-negotiated Kink, current VERY IFFY SEX
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinuplilpup/pseuds/chinuplilpup
Summary: Dick isn't an angry teenager anymore, storming out of the manor with a smarting jaw and the naive certainty that he'd never be back again.He isn't stupid anymore, he's twenty two.From theDCKinkmeme: "Slade/Dick, consensual but it probably shouldn't be."
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 106





	touch me, touch me

**Author's Note:**

> Self-fill! I hit all the bonus points, which are:
> 
> -daddy issues, of any type  
> -bad guy!Slade, who knows Dick is in a bad place and doesnt care or even likes it better  
> -Dick knows it's a bad idea but something pushes him to do it anyway  
> -past abuse/rape, either canon or non canon  
> -trans character(s)
> 
> additional warnings: physical parental abuse, mentions of past public humiliation and emeto, "cunt" used for dick's junk, panic attack/flashback during sex 
> 
> slade never Technically does anything that dick says he doesn't want, in keeping with the prompt. but there is undernegotiated kink, non-risk-aware kink (breathplay is never safe! and this is a horrible, nonconsensual portrayal of it!), and dick asking for things in a sober but not great state of mind. this is rape, hence the archive warning.

Dick pays for the room with his debit card. His jaw clenches when the transaction goes through, even though he knew it would. Bruce had never frozen his accounts before.

Paying with Wayne money tastes sour, despite the one fact that Dick clings to: that if Bruce knew the way Dick was spending it-- Dick doesn't know what he'd do. Come down to the seedy motel and drag him back to the manor with his own hands? Cancel his cards for real? Hit him? Lock him up in the cave?

Dick isn't an angry teenager anymore, storming out of the manor with a smarting jaw and the naive certainty that he'd never be back again. He isn't stupid anymore, he's twenty two. He’s getting older. His toes that were broken on patrol last year haven't quite healed yet and still ache in the mornings. But every time he speaks to Bruce he's an angry child again, he can never be the better person or speak calmly or change the outcome. It's always yelling, storming out, spending Bruce's money; wait a few months, rinse, repeat.

He'd thought maybe with Tim around--but no, that's not fair. Tim's a kid. B's too harsh on him and Dick sees him stand quietly and take it, and internalize it, and sees him watch B quietly and learn from him, and it scares him.

It's easier sometimes to redirect Bruce's anger at him. But it never makes anything better, because Dick always leaves and now Tim's back there alone.

Fuck.

Dick pushes the room door open roughly. Slade is already there.

The first time with Slade was when he was nineteen. Bruce kicked him out for the second time--well, the first time, really. When Dick was fifteen he packed a bag and called Roy and left, but when he was nineteen Bruce told him to go.

Dick walked out with just his wallet and took a bus and ended up in New York City.

Deathstroke found him there on the third night. Dick was hanging around at a club, trying to find someone who might buy him a drink. He was paying for his hotel with Bruce's money, and justified it to himself because for everything else--food, a toothbrush, anything extra--he used his own quickly-dwindling stack of cash.

So he couldn't spare five bucks for a drink, even at a club that he knew wouldn't card him.

Deathstroke walked up to him in civilian clothes--which didn't make him look much different--and gave him the same tired old offer.

"I'm done with that shit," Dick said. "Leave me alone."

He must have turned to catch the light because Slade let out a low whistle. "Quite the shiner."

Dick scowled and got up to walk away. Slade took him by the shoulder. He froze stiff and snapped, "Buy me a drink if you wanna talk to me."

"Show me some ID first and I will." Slade almost smiled.

Dick wrenched out of his grasp.

"Hey," called the bartender, suddenly so interested in Dick that she leaned over the bar to catch his eye. "You want something, or are you good?"

Her eyes were wide and earnest and she leaned herself in between him and Slade. "Whiskey," he said. "Just a shot."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, not suspicious but searching. Then she said, "ID?"

Dick glared at Slade. Slade paid for it, never losing the amused slant to his lips.

The bartender kept searching his expression as she slid the shot over and Dick conjured a reassuring smile. "Thanks, I'm good."

She seemed convinced enough and moved to the other side of the bar as a rush came in. Dick took the shot in two swallows so he wouldn't choke, and managed to keep his face straight too. He wasn't friends with Roy for nothing.

"So," Slade said after a moment. "Where's my thank you?"

He was too young back then, he knows that now. Nineteen was too young. He feels so old, at twenty two, in another motel room taking off his binder while Slade puts his hands down the front of his pants.

As soon as he’s naked on his top half Slade spins him around, pressing them together back to chest. His elbow moves with how roughly he rubs Dick’s slit and the other hand crawls up his stomach and gropes his chest. His tits always ache after Slade’s through with him.

He wants that. He wants Slade’s hands on him, marking him. Something that he’ll be able to feel tomorrow, two days from now, when he goes back to the manor.

If he goes back.

Slade’s hand finds the opening at the front of his boxers and Dick loses his thought. Good. Forget the manor, forget Bruce, forget--

“Ah!” Dick jumps as Slade pinches his fingernails into his skin just under his collarbone.

“Did you call me here to ignore me, Dick?” That stupid smooth voice. At least he doesn’t call him Richard anymore.

“I don’t know, did you come just to paw at me like a virgin?”

Slade laughs, and Dick doesn’t even feel good that his joke landed. He needs to let go, he needs to feel better, he needs to be himself again. Somehow he ended up here instead.

“Give me something to start with,” Slade says. “Show me you’re interested.” He pushes Dick to his knees. Dick licks his lips as Slade walks around him, letting saliva pool on his tongue. Slade already has his cock out of his pants.

It humiliates Dick to do this, ever since the first time, because the first time was the day after they met in a bar in New York, on his knees in a hotel room that Slade paid for, them and three others. Two men and one woman, whose names he never found out and who didn’t know him in a mask or out of one, or so Slade promised. All Dick remembers is keeping his eyes shut and trying not to throw up as Slade moved his mouth up and down his cock.

Yeah, it’s pretty hot in theory. He jerked off thinking about it enough times since. But then he did throw up, saliva and come and stomach bile down Slade’s boots, and they all laughed at him.

So having Slade’s cock in his face reminds him of then. It’s gross how hot that makes him, how he can feel his heartbeat in his cheeks the moment Slade tells him to open his mouth. On the other hand, he’s better at it now than he was three years ago.

Slade asked for a show so Dick gives him one. He rubs his cheek against his hardening cock and nudges Slade’s hand away with his nose, darting a glance up beneath his eyelashes. He licks the head over and over to test Slade’s patience. He turns out to have more than Dick tonight, because Dick tires of that first and sinks his mouth down the length.

He chokes a bit but it doesn’t make him panic and he breathes through it. Slade has the thickest fucking cock, it’s ridiculous. Dick can hardly believe it’s the first cock he ever sucked.

He fits the head snug against the back of his throat and swallows around it, then pulls back to use his tongue and lips. After that first time, he hasn’t been able to make Slade come from a blowjob, though not from lack of trying. He learned to deepthroat, he used his hands, he let Slade facefuck him until his lips turned blue, but he just couldn’t do it like he’d managed to before. So Dick doesn’t let him fuck his throat anymore.

Dick presses the head of his cock to the inside of his cheek and shakes his head slowly back and forth, rubbing it against the soft, wet skin there. Slade grunts appreciatively and then grabs Dick by the shoulders and drags him to his feet.

His pants slip down to his thighs and Dick grabs for them. Slade ignores that and shoves Dick down over the dresser doubling as a TV stand. The TV teeters dangerously and Dick steadies it with his hands. Slade yanks his pants and boxers down to his ankles.

"Fucking--" Dick tries to straighten and Slade shoves him back down. His shoulder knocks the TV again. "You wanna pay for property damage?"

"Let it fall," Slade says. When Dick stands up again he wraps him up in both arms. One hand slips down between his legs. "It's on your father's dime, hm?"

Dick jerks in surprise when Slade forces two fingers into him. His elbow hits the sharp corner of the dresser.

“Fuck!” Half out of instinct and half out of anger Dick throws his head back, aiming to catch Slade’s nose. The back of his skull collides with Slade’s jaw--which is as hard as a fucking rock. Slade barely sways, and Dick opens his mouth to complain about his thick fucking skull giving Dick a concussion, when Slade’s hand closes around his throat and squeezes.

For a second Dick doesn’t realize he’s being choked and he struggles. Then he tries to pull in a breath and he can’t, and he gets it. He forces his limbs to be still. Don’t struggle. Don’t struggle. Go limp. This is Slade; Dick doesn’t trust that he could get out of his grip before losing consciousness. Struggling will only waste oxygen.

He counts his heartbeats. Slade’s thick fingers are still inside him, hooked in deep. Don’t struggle.

When Slade lets go of him, Dick lets his weight take over and collapses forward onto the scratchy carpet. He sucks in breath after breath and pulls himself forward on his hands. His jeans tangle around his calves and he kicks them off. The door to the bathroom lays half-open, sending a triangle of light onto the carpet in front of him. He crawls through it and kicks it shut.

He tries to pull himself up to his knees but his head is spinning too violently. His instincts tell him to cough, but he knows from experience that coughing will ignite the pain in his raw throat. He leans back against the lip of the bathtub, his legs splayed out in front of him.

Dick didn’t lock the bathroom door. It wouldn’t have kept Slade out, if he’d wanted to keep Slade out, which he doesn’t. He wouldn’t have done it anyway. He’s naked. His clothes are outside. Even if he wanted to leave, he’s stuck. He doesn’t need it spelled out for him, it’s clear as day: if Slade wants him to stay, he can make Dick stay.

He sits against the bathtub and thinks, I shouldn’t have slammed the door.

He can hardly remember the first time with Catalina, which is fine and dandy if you ask him. There were plenty of times afterwards. In his car, at her apartment because she let him stay when he had nowhere else to go. He learned then not to lock doors, not to close them loudly, never to seem like he was trying to keep anyone out. Amazing that what basically amounted to a relationship of a couple of weeks still affected him now, years later.

Unhurried footsteps approach the bathroom. Dick’s breathing calms down and he gathers as much saliva in his mouth as he can to swallow down, hoping to soothe his throat.

The door opens, inevitably. Slade walks in and leaves it open. He doesn’t acknowledge Dick, even as he leans over him to plug the drain and turn on the bathtub faucet. The sound of rushing water fills the room. Slade pulls off his shirt, folds it on the counter, and combs through his beard with his fingers.

He doesn’t say anything. Dick doesn’t ask any questions. The silence, Slade’s calm presence looming above him, reminds him of fucking up when he was younger. Slade’s punishments always made sense. They came right after the mistake, they were severe but consistent, and once Dick weathered them he was forgiven. He’s nothing like Catalina. Nothing like Bruce.

He waits to see what Slade has planned, his heart beating only a little faster than normal.

“Get on your knees,” Slade says after a few minutes.

Dick gets up on his knees.

“Turn around.”

Dick turns to face the bathtub, which by now is full. Without warning Slade steps up close behind him. Dick’s hands shoot out to brace himself on the lip of the tub, afraid Slade is going to shove his head under the water.

Slade reaches past him and shuts off the tap.

In the sudden silence, his knuckles white on the porcelain, Dick knows what Slade is going to do. He takes a deep breath.

“How many times?” Slade asks.

“Slade.” Dick can hear the whine in his voice. He feels like he’s nineteen again. Slade is a wall of muscle standing with a foot in between Dick’s knees.

Slade doesn’t move or say anything. He’s always been patient, so much more patient with Dick than anyone else Dick has ever fucked. He attributes it to Slade being older. Less in a rush.

Dick says, “Five times.”

“Sounds fair. Hands behind your back.”

It takes Dick a few minutes to unclench his fingers from the bathtub. Slade waits patiently. Dick sways on his knees, the linoleum of the bathroom hurting him already, and clasps his hands behind his back.

Slade braces a knee in the middle of Dick’s back and digs his fingers into his hair. He still gives Dick a second to prepare, to take a breath. Then he applies pressure to the back of his head, guiding him downwards until his face is underwater.

The water is cold. Dick closed his eyes on reflex the second before he hit the water, so he can’t see, he can’t hear. The cold lip of the bathtub digs uncomfortably into his naked chest.

Don’t struggle.

Slade doesn’t shake him, doesn’t hurt him. Just holds him down. Dick’s lungs start to hurt, his head starts to pound; he breathes out as slowly as he can, letting it bubble up against his face. Showing Slade that--it’s been a long time.

Don’t panic. Don’t struggle. His fingernails scrape against the backs of his hands.

Slade pulls his head out of the water. Dick coughs and gasps in a breath that hurts his already-raw throat.

Slade pushes him back under.

Dick panics.

His hands smack against the bathtub so loudly that he can hear the muffled sound. He fights at Slade’s grip, air bubbling out of his mouth and nose immediately, Slade’s knee digging painfully into his back. There’s no coherent thought in his head except for that he’s about to die, so he fights, and Slade’s grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

His mouth hangs open underwater but there’s no more air left to escape him.

Slade pulls him up. Dick throws a hand back and wraps it around Slade’s wrist, as if he could untangle the hand from his hair, and stares up at the white tiled shower. “Wait. Wait. W-wait.”

“Of course,” Slade says cooly. “Until you put your hands back where I told you to put them.”

Okay. Okay. He can put it off for a little while, but he can’t avoid it. He should get it over with. He should.

He loosens his grip on Slade, takes a deep breath, and puts his hands behind his back. He grips Slade’s calf, digging his fingers into his jeans. Slade pushes him under and doesn’t let him up until he’s dizzy and his lungs are on fire.

“Good,” Slade says softly. He lets Dick take two breaths and pushes him back under.

Is this three, or four? Dick can’t remember. He keeps his hands behind his back, worrying Slade’s jeans between his fingertips until they feel raw, but he struggles. He can’t help it. He can’t breathe. He twists and twitches and causes Slade’s fingers to yank at his hair. Water splashes out of the tub and down his front.

Has it been five times already? Was Slade not stopping? Slade barely lets him above the waterline this time, and the water agitated by Dick’s thrashing splashes him in the face while he tries to breathe. He swallows some, it goes up his nose. He gags.

“You’re doing very good,” Slade says in his ear.

Dick opens his mouth to say something, and gets a mouthful of cold bathwater when Slade inexorably pushes him back down.

He can’t breathe. Don’t struggle. Don’t move. Slade is leaning over him, so close, his body heat at Dick’s back. Don’t move.

Don’t move.

Slade’s hand leaves his hair. Dick floats for a second, disoriented, and then he realizes and throws his head back. He holds his face above the water, shaking. He flinches when he feels Slade’s hand on him but Slade only guides him further up. His palm against Dick’s forehead, he guides Dick to lean his head back against his thigh.

“Beautiful.”

Dick heaves, his chest convulsing. Rivulets of water drip from his hair down his closed eyelids.

Slade carefully extracts his leg from Dick’s deathgrip. Without it, Dick’s arms fall limp at his sides.

“Lean over,” Slade says.

Dick shakes his head. Slade lets go of his forehead. Dick shakes his head.

“No,” Dick mumbles. “Please. No.”

Slade sighs. He leans down, past Dick, and yanks the plug from the drain. Dick shivers and listens to the water drain away, and blinks open his eyes to watch it.

“We’re done with that. Now lean over.”

Dick hesitates. There’s an inch of water left, then half an inch, receding like a wave. Cold radiates from the porcelain like it’s an open freezer.

“Not here,” he manages around a tongue that feels swollen and paralyzed. “Take me--to bed. Take me--”

Slade grunts, and then Dick’s head spins as he’s picked up. Slade carries him like a child carries a puppy: an arm around his waist and an arm around his chest. Dick’s legs dangle, and his chin bounces on his chest, and Slade’s still wearing his boots.

He sets Dick down on the bed and rolls him onto his back. The hotel blanket rubs against every inch of Dick’s naked body. His hair sticks to his forehead and the back of his neck.

Slade crawls over him, his jeans and boots gone, and pushes until his legs are sprawled open. Dick blinks the blurriness away from his eyes and reaches down.

Two fingers rub down his slit and push into him. Dick grabs onto Slade’s forearm, his other hand reaching for more. Slade’s so hot and Dick’s freezing, drops of water crawling down his sides. Slade pulls his fingers out and at the same time nudges his cock into the space they left open.

Dick shouts, the sound ragged. He sounds like he’s been sucking cock all night. His shivering makes him so tight. It’s so cold, and his hair is wet. Slade won’t touch him anywhere but where they’re joined together. Why won’t he touch him? Not even a hand on his leg as Slade works his cock in deeper, past any resistance it finds.

Why won’t he touch him?

“Slade,” Dick gasps. “It hurts.”

Slade lets out a harsh breath and keeps going. It doesn’t hurt, really, or if it does Dick is too numb to tell. And anyway, pain has never been a signal to stop, not between them.

Dick panics. He thrashes as if he’s moving through water and grabs at the sheets, trying to pull himself up and away, though there’s very little space between him and the top of the bed. His ears ring but he thinks he’s saying over and over again that it hurts, God knows why he thinks that will work to stop it, to stop anything, but he says it anyway.

“It hurts. No more,” he begs, struggling so wildly that Slade’s cock slips out of him and the blankets tangle around his arms, trapping them. He squeals like a stuck pig, like a little kid, “Please! You’re hurting me, you’re h-hurting--”

His throat feels as though it’s on fire with every sobbing breath he takes. There are hands on his chest, warm hands rolling him onto his side. He coughs and curls up into a little ball.

He remembers that it’s Slade. He knows it’s Slade. Heedless of how wet Dick’s hair is, Slade lays down behind him and drags him against his chest. It’s like a space heater pressed right up against Dick.

Cold fear and hot shame ebb and flow inside him.

He thought he could do it. Slade thought he could do it. He’s always done it before--taken every punishment, ate up the rewards Slade gave him afterwards. He should have been able to--

“Too much too fast, huh?” Slade says. Dick feels it vibrate through his chest.

Slowly, he’s stopped shivering and is laying very still. He says hoarsely, “It’s cold.”

Slade’s warmth leaves his back for a moment, and a blanket drapes over them both. Then Slade makes himself comfortable again.

“So, what now?” he asks.

A shudder works down Dick’s spine, down to his cunt. “Fuck me here.”

“Are you sure?”

Dick props one of his legs up on Slade’s warm calf, spreading his thighs for him. He reaches down and rubs himself and he’s wet, he is. He wants this. He wants to burn up, to sweat from being fucked.

“Yeah.” He pushes his wet bangs out of his eyes, then throws that hand back and finds Slade’s hand. He guides it to his cunt. Slade takes over then, running his fingers over Dick’s lips slowly. Another shudder shakes Dick’s whole body.

“Should I talk?” Slade asks.

Dick nods desperately. He wants to hear Slade’s voice, for Slade to tell him things that are true, things that ground him.

Slade sinks a finger into him. “What should I say?” His lips brush Dick’s shoulder. Slade licks away a droplet of water.

“Tell me-- Call me--” Dick can barely think. It hurts to talk. “Slut.”

“Hm.” Slade slips a second finger inside and scissors them apart. “You are a slut. Look at you. Half-drowned little bird whore.”

Dick grips the sheets between his fingers.

“I could do whatever I want to you and you’d still beg for a cock in your needy cunt.”

Slade withdraws his fingers and Dick whines, thrusting his hips back.

“Perfect little hole,” Slade says.

Dick flinches. He can’t stand it: perfect, beautiful, good. It’s not true, and more importantly, he can’t hear it right now. He can’t.

Slade says, “No? Ah, you’re right. This used up thing?” The head of his cock pokes against Dick’s cunt. He’s so flushed and hot down there that it feels cool against his lips. “You’re lucky I still want it. Dirty slut.”

He shoves Dick half onto his stomach and pushes his leg up, laying most of his weight on Dick’s back. The blanket falls over Dick’s nose, covering him completely, closing him in.

“How many cocks have been in here?” He thrusts forward and spears Dick open. “You better make it tight for me or I won’t fucking bother again.”

Dick feels tight. He clenches down and moans as Slade fucks him.

“Nasty,” Slade hisses into his ear. “Can tell you like this.”

Dick does. He likes it.

“I could do anything to you and you’d come back,” Slade says. He rocks slowly back and forth, in and out. “Nearly drowned you, and look at you spreading your legs for me. Could beat you black and blue and you’d come crawling back.”

Dick sobs into the mattress. It’s humid under the blankets, their skin sticks together even as the slide of Slade’s massive cock in and out of him goes smoothly, as more and more slick leaks out of Dick to make it easy.

“Say, ‘thank you for fucking my worthless hole.’”

Dick opens his mouth and all that comes out is a gasp. Slade’s beard chafes the side of his neck.

“Can’t even do that?” Slade says. Dick can’t tell if his tone is more disgusted or delighted. “Say, ‘thank you.’”

“Th-thank you,” Dick manages.

“‘For fucking,’” Slade fucks deep into him, “‘my worthless fucking cunt.’”

“For fucking my cunt!” Dick finishes in one breath, before another hard thrust empties his lungs again.

Slade scoffs. “Good enough. Dumb slut, you don’t have to worry about anything except pleasing the next cock.”

Dick nods. He can’t stop making noise now, a quiet “ah, ah, ah!” that Slade punches out of him with each rough thrust. Slade goes down on his elbow and wraps a hand around Dick’s mouth. He fucks him harder and Dick shouts through his ragged throat. His teeth and his tongue press against Slade’s palm. It’s not sexy except it is, because Slade doesn’t care and Slade fucks him without pretending to care about Dick’s comfort or pleasure.

He comes inside of Dick with a moan and lets Dick’s head flop back onto the mattress.

“Take it. Ah, fuck.” He thrusts inside him a few more times, fucking his come into him. “‘Least you’re good for being a cumdump.”

Dick lays on his stomach, warm all over and hot at his core.

“Turn over,” Slade says, and Dick does. He knows that he’s about to doze off and that Slade wants to eat him out. Sure enough Slade gets on his knees under the blanket and puts his mouth to work, licking his come out of Dick and sucking his cock to a peak.

His first orgasm comes quickly. Slade whispers, so softly Dick can barely hear, “Good boy. That’s good.”

He doesn’t stop, even when Dick twitches with the overstimulation. Dick doesn’t ask him to.

**Author's Note:**

> timeline? what's a timeline?


End file.
